


Just Play Along

by orphan_account



Series: 12 Days of Ficlets [9]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, They meet in a grocery store, and Sherlock deduces, first johnlock fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:24:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock doesn't want to wait in line, so he pretends to know the man at the front -- John Watson. What he doesn't realize is that his act will lead to something a hell of a lot more real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Play Along

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my 12 Days of Ficlets over on tumblr (my URL is i-am-superwhomarvellocked) and prompted by an anon who wanted a "I want to cut this line so I'm pretending to know you" AU. This is my first johnlock fic, so please be kind -- I could probably write Sherlock a lot better if I was allowed to go over the 1.5k word limit for this. I will in the future :).

Sherlock exhaled, annoyed. The line in front of him was far too long: he was not a patient man, and it was ridiculous to assume that he should have to go through something so time-consuming and wasteful just to pay for a carton of milk. He didn't even want the milk-- he was only buying it because Mrs. Hudson insisted on having something in the refrigerator other than body parts. He huffed again and glanced around the small grocery shop, focusing on the woman in front of him.   
She was 47 years old, newly divorced by the look of things, on the prowl for a younger man, trying to lose a few pounds, wearing a different sort of perfume than she typically did, employed in a hair salon, worried about her parakeet, infatuated with croissants...Sherlock sighed, bored again.   
He pushed past the line of people, a few of whom grunted in annoyance, and settled in next to the shorter blond man who was in the middle of checking out. He ran only a basic observation pattern (ex-soldier, very intelligent, sensible) before thumping his milk down next to the man's pile of groceries, turning to him, and brushing a kiss along the man's cheekbone (that was something people did, right?).   
"John!" he exclaimed, choosing a name at random and hoping that the man would follow his lead. "Couldn't you wait a minute for me to pick up the milk?"  
The man looked slightly terrified and very confused, so Sherlock leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Just play along. I've waited too damn long in that line."  
The man shivered as Sherlock drew back and looked at him expectantly. God, he was so infuriated with all these ordinary people and their little boring ordinary lives. This man was just like all the rest-- dull, bland, and- "Well, you could've moved at more than a snail's pace," the man (John? Sherlock would call him John for the sake of ease) said, pretending to be annoyed.   
Sherlock smiled. The expression was unfamiliar on his face, and he tried to analyze how he felt about it, then decided it was not necessary. "John, not everyone can shop as quickly as you can. Some of us are actually checking the labels."  
The man threw up his hands. "You don't have to check the labels on milk! It's milk!"  
The cashier looked like she was stifling a laugh as she asked, "John, how long have you two been together? You've never told me anything about him."   
Sherlock tilted his head. It was clear that John knew the woman (and that he had chosen the correct name), but he didn't understand why she thought the two of them were dating. "John and I are not tog-" he cut off abruptly as the man slung his arm around Sherlock's shoulder and he temporarily forgot the exact workings of his respiratory system. By the time he had recovered, John was laughing with the cashier.   
"No, we're not dating, only flatmates, thank God. I just moved in with him." She passed him the receipt and grinned. "Well, if you'd like my opinion..."  
"Thank you so much, Becky," John said hurriedly, taking the receipt and his groceries.   
As they moved off, milk paid for and tucked into a bag over his arm, Sherlock hissed, "Why did you tell her we were flatmates?  
"To make her stop talking about us dating." He paused for a moment, then continued, "But I have been looking for a place to stay-- I've just gotten back from-"  
"Afghanistan or Iraq?"  
John looked at him, surprised. "Afghanistan. How did you know? And who exactly are you?"  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I could go into detail, but I'll spare it for now. I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective." He struggled to pull out a business card while holding the milk, and John took it from him, then accepted the card. They walked out of the grocery store and Sherlock hailed a cab.   
"I do have a vacant room at my flat if you're interested," Sherlock said casually while his heart pounded. John was one of the first people who had truly caught his attention in a very long time. Most of them resolved themselves into an endless blur of meaningless problems and thoughts and personalities, but John seemed different. He was one in approximately 7,282,641,825 people -- the one who might actually be able to assist Sherlock in some way with his cases. Bright, attentive to detail, with a down-to-earth perspective -- Sherlock needed someone like John.   
"Sure, okay," John answered, rather anticlimactically in Sherlock's opinion. The cab pulled up, and John suddenly dipped Sherlock dramatically in front of the whole street. Sherlock tensed in John's arms.   
"Just play along," he whispered into Sherlock's ear, then kissed him, and Sherlock shuddered and realized that yes, this was something people did, and he could see fully why they did it now. He understood, with the press of John's lips and his vanilla and baking powder scent and the way that he missed him desperately when John pulled away.   
Trying to regain some sense of control, Sherlock straightened his coat and sputtered indignantly, "You cannot stay at my flat."  
John shot him a smirk and scrambled into the cab. "First off, you deserved that, and secondly, I've still got your milk."  
Sherlock sighed and slid into the cab beside John. Mrs. Hudson would be very angry if he did not return to 221B with milk, and that was the only reason that Sherlock was joining John in the cab.   
He glanced at the man next to him and cleared out a few of Plato's writings from his mind palace to make room for the shape of John's jaw and his manner of speaking and his eyes and the silly little jumper he was wearing.   
Yes, only because he was just the slightest bit afraid of Mrs. Hudson's wrath.


End file.
